Author: Deven A.

A Dance of Six Legs

Poetry

The Dance Of Six Legs

A grey lit room one gloomy afternoon witnessed the colors it never had before,
The dance of six legs, three hips, four lips and two more.

White outlines in this silhouette met and glistened each other,
His hip against her perfect bottom and her lips between the legs of another.

The rains blew hail outside, in here blew the breaths of bliss;
As she unearthed her face from between the thighs and gave the other girl a kiss.

The first girl, a sitar player, figured her hands could do more amazing things;
Played the other one and the boy like she knew her Malhar strings.

She had taken under her wings all that the dark skies would;
Pouring down on blistered plains with all madness she could.

Never thought under her shy hide lived a woman so brazen and free;
He wanted to lay down and let her reign and so did she.

The other girl, a percussionist, held back a bit, and was herself appalled;
Never thought she’d skip such beats in a situation she craved the most of all.

Like the hail, she scattered, while being explored by the sitarist’s tongue;
Like cold, hardened raindrops she melted, but by the fears of usual distrust she hung.

There was hardly any of her’s out of all the clothing lying around the bed;
The boy and the sitarist dissolved her worries as they placed their mouths on her bohemian breasts.

To both of them the boy in his cloudy voice sang;
His skin rubbed all over them and the girls, like wine glasses, rang.

The music of this monsoon was followed by an unknown, comforting heat;
And the sun did set, vibrantly colored and lukewarm, under one moist sheet.

poem by Deven

artwork by @EroticWatercolor

नज़्म

Poetry

जाने  कितने  लफ्ज़  गुज़र  गए  हैं  लबो  से,  उड़ती  फ़िज़ा  पे  बंधे;

 जाने  कितने  लफ्ज़  खर्च  हुए  हैं  बेफ़िज़ूली  रुसवाइयों  में  लिपटे।

कई  तो  बस  बेहे  गए  ज़ख्मो  से, नफरतों  के  ज़लज़ले  तले;

पास  है  मेरे  बस  चंद  बाकि, नज़रबंद  सीने  में  खिले।

कानों  की  खोल  खिड़कि  देख  रहे  हैं  अल्फाज़ो  का  तमाशा;

घुटके  मुझ ही  में  गूँज  रहे  हैं  मर्ज़ों  से  मेरे  मिलके।

कभी  उतरते  थे  कलम  से,  मुझे  मुक्त  कर;

मगर  अब  क़ैद  मुझी  में,  सर्द  मज़ारों से  बिछे  हैं।

कागज़  के  लिये  बुने  नज़्म  कई,  मेरी  गेहेराइयों  में  ज़प्त;

जुबां  की  शमशीरों  से  कट  मरे  हैं।

Natural Aphrodisiac

Poetry

Colors of Euphoria

Out in the open fields afar,

Breathing in the breeze of spring my last night’s scars.

There’s grass on her naked back and some trampled under my knees;

Twigs in her hair and mud on my feet.

Knots between us unwilling to untie;

Her skin kindling up my heart, under the pink sky.

There’s orchids growing out our ears; pulsars twinkling in her eyes.

Pulling us even closer in the hills are red thorny creepers reaching up our thighs.

Colors of euphoria blooming on her neck;

She and I possessed by this nature’s wreck.

Seasons sway and change to her moves;

The spring leaves wither and autumn plays its grooves.

Impromptu roars of winds we feel on our face;

And the last drops from her chalice stream down in grace.

The winds suddenly take to calm as her panting stops;

Beneath us grow orange summer crops.

And we lay there brazen, lit like fireflies;

Waiting for the spring to return, before our light dies.

poem by – Deven A.

artwork by – @AlphaChanneling

Unforgettable

Poetry

Unforgettable'

I forget not the gleam;

the gliding beam warping around her bare shape.
The mysteries awaiting to be explored;

adventures to be unraveled on her scape.

In the muffled light from the windows,

she stood like the work of a mad artist;

and literature of an impeccable juggler of metaphors.
I forget not the tender warmth;

under the open sky, on a vulnerable me,

her skin grew like tides do on the shores.

I forget not, the feeling, as she came over to me under the sheets

like dark clouds over a burnt terrain;

the cracks in me only yearning for the pour.
I forget not the scent; a petrichor of sorts;

the touch of her hide corrupting me into a greed of wanting more.

I forget not the afternoons spent in her arms;

that blur down to a shade of orange with which I paint my nights.
I forget not the beguile breasts; her mellow feet, invasive thighs

and other such luring sights.

A new flavour fills me every time

I helplessly obsess over that every detail still alive in me.
And I forget not how she caged me in herself forever

and at the same time set me free…

words by Deven

artwork by @EroticWaterColor

Silk and Witchcraft

Poetry

Silk and Witchcraft

A nectar of hypnosis dripped from her eyes and everywhere else,
I was her prey the moment she saw me notice her skin shine in the dancing lights.
She was like, a thousand silk worms had crawled up her bones to make all that flesh; unearthly smooth.
I was only but a thunderstruck brain reacting to a cosmos of neurochemicals that rushed inside of me at the sight of her.
A static of uncontrollable existence, the black of which deepened everytime her eyeballs met mine in the irrelevant crowd.
She had spells carved on her neck, the art of which only tasteful men understand.
Cotton sprung from below her high tied bun and the tickle was felt on my shoulder.
She was only looking at me but somehow I felt her all over.
I had not heard her voice, but I could listen to her whisper in my ear, followed by loud panting.
Her sweat had turned into bourbon that slithered down my spine as I sipped it.
And lips that would only seem to want my blood on them.
Every inch of me quivered as this absolute sculpture of lure played its games on me and pushed me into a pool of crave.
I was drunk to her venom, thought her arms are my grave.
Her strings were on me, like I was some unstable daft.
Even to imagine her kiss and spoil me, felt like witchcraft.

words by – Deven

artwork by – @EroticWaterColor

War Paint in Summer

Poetry

War Paint In Summer

Here I am; as the red of the war paint

slowly slides down from her face to her breasts.

Here I am; trying to free her high tied hair,

bound in which my obsession rests.

Here I go; evaporating under her naked sunlight;

Tangled into the weeds of night;

a fight, I lose, I might…

Here I go; becoming things I’ve never before;

Craving the sea while I’ve just reached her shore;

I know, I’m sure, want more…

Here we are; painted in orange stripes

and a thousand rising suns in between,

turning ripe.

Fueling the fires burning at the horizon,

having a lot more blue to wipe.

Here we are; breeze riding along the summer knight,

unbearably bright, too burning for the sight.

Washed up in sweaty tones;

on her tides in the dusk, echoed in violent moans.

Here… we are; dipped in the crimson light,

more insatiable despite;

Setting in the day; Rising through the night…

Evenings

PhotographyPoetry

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“Some evenings make love to the neural signals in your head.
Some caress the paths of inhibition,
others brush by the blissful woods of dopamine…”
– Deven

Written On The Sky

PhotographyPoetry

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Written on the sky in clear letters;
Is the story of you and me.
That shall bring many two’s
Closer to becoming one’s.
And above all, ‘be’ a book for all those lost,
To peep into once in a while,
And find whatever their hearts consider is missing…

Sapphire and Salt

Poetry

Sapphire and Salt

Melting into each other under mellow heat;
Upon my restless skin, your tender hide wanders.

Some unearthly shivers, down my back astray;
As the droplets of your might add more black to my grey.

The Sun, the Moon bow down at our feet;
While under the stars, your hips to my lips greet.

Like dew to a petal, a pianist’s fingers on the keys;
You roll into my slipping grip with lathering ease.

Until the time comes, for us to lack;
You shall, like always, only tide back.

Then again in a quantum moment we live our eternal halt;
Between the stretches of this continuum join,

your sapphire and my salt.

poetry by – Deven

artwork by – @EroticWatercolor

Islands

Uncategorized

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I hear them flock
To my wet sands;
In packs of many
Or disarrayed bands.
Some arrive waving wings to the wind’s roars,
Others come floating on the dancing oars.
I have heard from the tides, what it would be like;
To have life on my untouched terrain, taking a hike.
Every first light I hear a million singing their songs,
By every setting sun only a handful stay along.
The ones holding on are nothing but stray,
Finding their solace in my comforting hay.
Since the beginning of time islands like me have longed for love,
Sometimes to my shores, even empty boats are enough…

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